


bum!Draco

by thursdaystgiles (mokuyoubi)



Series: Weird [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7137554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/thursdaystgiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malfoy is mugged, and suddenly, he’s not quite himself…or maybe he’s more himself than usual?  Harry can’t figure it out.  It’s weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bum!Draco

undefined

  
Weird

            “Er…Malfoy…why are you in a box?” Harry blinked, thinking he might be hallucinating.  But when he opened his eyes, Malfoy was still there.  A large cardboard box for a Muggle refrigerator was laid out horizontally in a side alley, and Malfoy was crouched just inside it, wrapped in a ragged blanket.  It was at least twenty-eight degrees out.

            Malfoy looked up at Harry, his eyes narrowed defensively.  “What does it look like, Potter?  I’m a _bum_.  I had to dig through the trash for my lunch.  Nothing looked very appetising, so I’m _starving_.  I’m wearing rags.  I think I’ve lost ten pounds.  God, I must look so gaunt.  That’s totally unattractive.  Go ahead, laugh.  I _know_ you want to.” He turned his nose haughtily to the sky and pulled the blanket more tightly around him.

            Harry wondered if he might be dreaming.  “How, er, long…have you been a bum?”

            “Do bums have watches, Potter?” Draco demanded sharply.

            “No, but there’s a clock tower right across the square.”

            Draco scowled.  “Fine, about three hours,” Draco said, checking his nails.  “Oh _God_!  I’ve got a hangnail.  Ewww…”

            “Er.  If it isn’t prying, may I ask _why_ you’re a bum?” Harry asked.  Now that bum-etude had been established, Harry found the whole situation rather amusing, if not confusing.

            “You’re laughing at me in your head.  I can see it,” Draco pouted.  “And not that it is _any_ of your business, but I was mugged.  An appropriate word, wouldn’t you say?  Such a foul act, and associated so closely in my mind with the word ‘Muggle.’”

            Harry hunkered down on the steps leading into the building beside them and got ready for a long and interesting conversation.  “Why didn’t you _stop_ them?  Or call for help?  Or report it?”

            “Well I couldn’t really stop them without a wand, could I?” Draco demanded, as though it was Harry’s fault he didn’t have a wand.  And, Harry supposed, it was, since, during the final battle (two weeks prior, during the completion ceremony), Harry had accidentally stepped on, and snapped in half, Draco’s wand.  In the days that followed, Draco had been recovering at Saint Mungo’s, and then there had been a million different award ceremonies for all the heroes involved, and Draco simply hadn’t had time to get a new wand.  “I mean, it wasn’t as if I was going to fight them hand to hand.  I might have been bruised.”

            “So why didn’t you report it, again?” Harry prompted.

            Draco sighed dramatically and threw the back of his hand to his forehead.  “Who’s going to believe a _bum_?  A _bum_ , Potter…the lowest form of life!”

            “Did they steal your cloths, too?” Harry asked suddenly.

            “What?  No.”

            “You mean you went out of the Manor dressed like that?” Harry said in obvious disbelief.  Beneath the blanket, Draco wore what might have at one time, been a robe.  Now, it was two separate pieces, much like a skirt and blouse, and much too large for Draco, so that the skirt had been rolled up several times and knotted around his waist, and still fell past Draco’s feet, and the top hung off his right shoulder and past his collar bone on the opposite side.  His feet were bare and dirty, but his toenails were still all even lengthed, and despite what Draco had said about chipped nails, so were his fingernails.

            “Hell no!  I stole these off the bum that used to live here,” Draco said, straightening the top part of the robe and pulling at his blanket in a most dignified manner. 

            Harry had the most disturbed, worried look on his face.  “You stole a bum’s house?”

            “Yes, and his clothes.  And his shopping cart.” Draco jerked his head to indicate the alley that stretched behind him, and Harry saw a Muggle shopping cart glistening dully there, filled to the brim with bags of worn scraps of clothing, strips of plastic, miscellaneous papers and a sad looking stuffed bear that had definitely seen better days…years…centuries, perhaps.  “How else was I supposed to be a real bum?”

            “Draco, you’ve got to give those back!” Harry exclaimed in horror.

            “What?  No!” Draco protested.  “Then where would I live?”

            “At Malfoy Manor?” Harry offered blankly.  “You don’t need your wand to Apparate!  And you’re next door to Gringotts!” Harry shouted, pointing up the stairs he sat upon to where the bank loomed crookedly above them.  “Why not walk right up the steps, get into your vault, take out some money, walk down to Ollivander’s, buy a new wand and go home!  And while you’re at it, give the poor bum back his things _and_ a thousand Galleons for the mental grief you’ve surly caused him!”

            Draco looked rather cross.  “I’d hardly be a bum, then, Potter.”

            “You were never a bum to begin with, Malfoy!” Harry wailed.

            “I…I can’t believe you’d say that!” Draco gasped, and he looked close to the verge of tears.  “I’m a real bum!  I dug through the trash, I held out the cup and begged for change!” He suddenly turned to scrabble around in the box, and produced a handful of Knuts and Sickles, and the odd Galleon, for verification.  “I’ve starved!”

            Harry felt oddly contrite and patted Malfoy’s shoulder awkwardly.  “I’m sorry, Malfoy, I didn’t mean it.  You are a real bum.  It was wrong of me…” Draco pouted up at him hopefully, from under shining silvery locks.  “Oh, what the hell am I saying?  It’s been three hours, Malfoy!  You can’t be starving in three hours!”

            “I had a light breakfast,” Draco protested weakly, crossing his arms.

            “You’ve gone around the bend, that’s what!” Harry decided.  “They never should have let you out of St. Mungo’s.  A spell must have caught you in the head, you’re not right.”

            “You know, that’s just like you, Potter.  Trying to take credit for everything.  I _must_ be a bum because of the final battle, which of course, occurred all because of you.  It couldn’t be that I had to resort to this lifestyle because of a series of unfortunate events which had nothing to do with you, but which resulted in my being robbed.  You don’t know the things I’ve seen.  A man _peed_ … _right there_.” He pointed to the brick wall the building opposite Gringotts in the alley.  “A stray dog tried to lick me, I had to resort to thievery in order to procure this box and my clothing, and,” He lowered his voice conspiratorially so that Harry had to lean in to hear him, “I think there were some men trading illegal Muggle drugs over there at the ice cream parlour.”  Harry leaned back to look at him in doubt, and Draco nodded knowingly, arching a brow and looking quite serious.  “Oh yeah.”

            Harry stood, feeling dizzy at the movement, though he might have been able to blame the dizziness on being close to Malfoy for too long.  “Alright.  I think you’ve gone a little bit crazy.  And I’m afraid it could be contagious.  So…I’m just going to go, now.  ‘kay?”

            Malfoy shrugged, and waved him off.  “It’s fine.  I’ll be fine.  I’ve been living in this alley a long time.  I can handle it.  I understand that it might be too much for the golden boy, but I’m tough.”  Harry left before he was tricked into staying any longer and hearing any more.

           

When Harry came back the next day, it was so much worse.  Draco was still in the alley…but the alley had got a little make-over.  A black, wrought-iron gate, with an intricate snake pattern blocked the entrance.  Draco stood just inside, posed most prettily against the wall, one foot on the ground, the other resting on the wall just above his knee.  He held a cigarette to one gloved hand and glanced at Harry through slitted eyes.  But what was most interesting…was his outfit.  He wore a lime-green halter top and matching shorts that couldn’t really be called shorts, because they were too short, which he’d left undone, exposing quite a lot of skin.  His tiny feet were shod in matching green sling-back heels that resembled snakeskin.  His hair was styled differently than usual, more feminine, with his bangs to one side and falling softly into his eyes.

            “What are you _doing_?” Harry asked, before he could think of what else he might say.

            “You buying?” Draco asked, producing a vial of…something…something reddish and liquid, and probably a lot illegal.  Harry frowned and Draco submitted.  “What does it look like I’m doing, Potter?  I’ve found a way to support myself,” Draco said, sniffing delicately.  “It’s more than I can say for _you_.  But not all of our parents left us with a veritable fortune, now did they?”

            “NO!” Harry shouted, on the verge of hysteria.  “ _Your_ parents left you a lot more.”

            Draco waved his hand dismissively.  Harry followed the motion, and was distracted by the fine, elegant gesture, and the body that made it.  He’d never seen Draco so…naked.  And that was probably a good thing, considering the reaction his body was having.  “Look, are you here to do business, or not?  Because if not, could you move along?  You might scare off prospective clients.”

            “Clients?” Harry nearly shrieked.  “Draco, you don’t actually…you know…” He lowered his voice and hissed, “Sell _drugs_ and have _sex_ with people…for money, do you?”

            “Not always for money,” Draco said with a toothy grin.

            “Draco!” Harry was scandalised.

            Draco snorted, and smiled an easy very lovely smile, and for a second, Harry thought it was all okay again, and Malfoy was going to put on a proper robe, and insult Harry, and go back home and be _normal_.  But then Draco’s face was schooled back into the expression of practised indifference, and he said, “Of course I don’t, Potter.  It’s an _image._ ” The way he pronounced the ‘a’ as ‘aahhhh,’ it seemed as if Malfoy expected that to explain everything.  “Won’t you step into my parlour?” He invited with a sweep of his hand.

            Harry figured things couldn’t get _much_ stranger, so he opened the gate and stepped inside.  Further in the alley, behind a large dumpster, Draco had made his home.  He gestured for Harry to make himself comfortable.  “Draco, this has simply got to stop,” Harry said, seated on an overturned rubbish bin.  Draco had an enchanted fire in another one, and yet another was dressed with a tablecloth and tea setting.  Draco arched a brow at Harry’s suggestion, poured them both a cup of tea, and perched himself lazily ontop of the dumpster.  Someone had spray painted “Dirty Whore” on the lid, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if that was before or after Malfoy had moved in.  Or, if Malfoy had written it himself.  Which Harry wouldn’t have considered as odd today, as he might have a few weeks before.

            “Potter,” Draco began slowly, stretching himself out in a most wanton manner.  “Did anyone ever tell you you had to stop being The Boy Who Lived?”

            “That’s different, Malfoy,” Harry protested, leaning forward earnestly. 

            Malfoy sniffed delicately and turned his nose to the sky, and at least _that_ was normal for him.  “I don’t see how.  We all have purposes in life.  We all have destinies.”

            “And yours is to be a rubbish whore?” Harry trilled.

            Draco touched a hand to his ear and cringed.  “Please.  I prefer the term ‘Alley Escort.’”

            Harry let out a heavy sigh.  “Draco, I feel really guilty about all this,” He said quietly.  “I’m rather sure you’re insane, and I know you’re going to call me big-headed, but I can’t help but think it’s my fault.  You’re…” He looked around them, feeling nothing he could say could possibly convey to Draco the absolute surrealism of their current situation.  “You’re living in an _alley_!  You…live in an alley!” He pulled at his own hair in frustration.

            “Yes, I do.  Take it easy, Harry,” Draco said, patting Harry’s back with a sympathetic and slightly condescending expression.

            “I think you’ve made me crazy, too.”

            Draco tipped his head to the side in consideration.  “I hear there’s a vacant alley a couple buildings down from Madame Malkin’s,” He offered helpfully.  Harry’s shoulder’s dropped.  “Well, if that isn’t high class enough for you, I know an alley over near the jewellery shop occupied by a rather weak-looking elderly man.  I think the two of us could over-power him, you know, and evict him, and then you could—”

            “No!” Harry protested, jumping up.  “No!  Draco, you have _got_ to stop doing that to bums!” Draco looked confused and pouted.  “Look, Draco…I think maybe I should take you to Saint Mungo’s, and let them have a look at your head.”

            As quickly as the words were out of his mouth, Draco’s disposition changed entirely, so that he was cold and closed off entirely.  “I _don’t_ think so, thank you.  Two weeks there was plenty enough time for me, _and_ I was given a clean bill of health.  Besides,” He said, taking Harry by the elbow and practically dragging him to the gate, “I’ve got customers.”  Sure enough, two robed figures, with hoods drawn, stood just outside the gate.  Harry couldn’t see their faces and that made him distinctly uncomfortable, but he was shuffled out, and they were let in, and as they disappeared behind the dumpster, Harry was left scratching his head in confusion.

                                               

“Have you seen Malfoy?”

            “No.  I thought he was holed up in Malfoy Manor.  Like I frequent that place.  Why?”

            “You mean you haven’t heard?”

            “Heard???” Ron asked, holding his hands out, palm up in a gesture of complete confusion, and indicating that Dean go on.

            “He’s started hanging out in the alley beside Gringotts.  He’s got a little tent, and he drags people in off the street and gives them advice.  It’s very _Karate Kid_.  Very _Mystery Men_ ,” Dean said, nodding.

            “Very who and who?” Ron said, baffled.

            “Yeah,” Dean went on, as if Ron hadn’t said a word.  “Like Tuesday, I had just got off work, and I was headed home, and he leapt out the tent at me, grabbed me by the collar and pulled me into his tent.  There was incense burning, and all these candles, it was like Trelawney’s classroom, right down to the cushions on the floor, and the low table and Malfoy sat across from me.  I was too startled to do anything but stare at him.  And he was real quiet for a bit, just looking at me, and it was really eerie, and then he leaned in and said…”

            Ron was leaning in, eager to hear what Draco had said.  Harry was leaning backward over the couch, trying to hear in on their conversation over the music.  “Actually, I can’t quite remember what he said.  I wasn’t really paying attention, and the incense was putting me to sleep.  But whatever he said, it was weird.”

            “You talking about Malfoy?” Parvati asked, joining in, having come over to refill her drink at the refreshment table. 

            “Yeah, you heard about him?” Ron looked like he already knew everything there was to know about Draco, and that he, Ron, was the expert on the subject. 

            Parvati nodded, her eyes getting wide.  “Yeah, it was awfully strange.  I’d always thought he was, yah know, cool.  But then Lavender and I were shopping at Diagon Alley, and we saw him digging through some trash.  We asked him what was going on, and he didn’t answer us, but took us back to his tent, and proceeded to read our palms.” She tipped her head to the side in contemplation.  “Really, he was rather good at it.  Solved a lot of my problems.”

            “Ooooooh!  Malfoy?” Lavender guessed, having followed her best friend across the room.  “Yeah, he said all this super mysterious stuff, like ‘the chick will die unborn if it doesn’t break through its shell,’ and ‘one must master one’s rage, before rage becomes one’s master,’ and ‘reality is just…um…’ I can’t remember…something to do with a collective consciousness.”

            “Yeah,” Ron said, nodding sagely.

            “I heard he’s been selling drugs,” Fred began, slinging an arm over one of Ron’s shoulder.

“And Martin Brooks said he’s trade,” George finished, slinging an arm over Ron’s other shoulder, and snagging a crisp from the table.

Fred wiggled his brows “‘First-hand’ knowledge.”

Harry fell over the couch backward in shock, and lay flat on his back in the circle of his friends.  They all stared down at him.  “Say, Harry, heard about Malfoy?” Ron asked, arching his brow.

 

The next morning, Harry stormed out of his apartment on a mission.  It was still early, maybe seven, and there was slight chill in the air despite the date.  Harry felt an irrational flair of concern for Malfoy, and hoped that the Slytherin still had his blanket, or that the tent was warm, at least.  But when Harry reached the alley, it was empty.  No gate, no tent, no box, no Draco.  Bemused, Harry twirled around on the spot, checking the alley across the street, and nope, not there, either.  He looked about, and yes, he was standing next to Gringotts, and yes, there was the ice cream parlour across the way, and there was still no sign of Draco.

Flustered and concerned, Harry Apparated to Malfoy Manor, surprised that the magical wards allowed him on the grounds.  The grass was still dewy, and made his jeans uncomfortably wet, and Harry was still tired from having been up late at the party.  When he reached the front door, it loomed impossibly large before him, and he got a panic-y feeling, wondering what the hell he was doing at _Malfoy_ Manor.  He might have felt more at place at Snape Manor.  Hesitantly, he lifted his hand, fisted it around the knocker, and knocked heavily twice, cringing at how loud the sound was.

Slowly, after a long moment, the door creaked open before him, and a house-elf stood in the hall.  “Er…is Master Malfoy in?” Harry asked, at the look from the elf.  The elf bowed and opened the door wider and gestured for Harry to enter, so Harry did, his shoes squeaking nosily on the shiny marble floor.  The elf popped out in a flash and Harry shifted on the spot, feeling distinctly out of place.

Less than a minute later, Draco appeared at the top of the stairs.  He was dressed in plain white pyjamas that fit him rather nicely, and the top rose to bare his pale stomach when he stretched and yawned.  “Ah, Potter,” He greeted, descending the stairs both lazily and gracefully at once, and Harry was envious.  “What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t in the alley!” Harry blurted out.

Draco frowned and the skin between his eyebrows furrowed and Harry thought it irresistibly cute.  “What are you on about?” Draco asked airily, brushing past Harry and walking down the long hall.  Draco hadn't really dismissed him, so Harry followed, staring at the walls covered in past Malfoys.  Nearest, a rather angry looking Lucius narrowed his eyes at Harry as he passed.  “Father still hasn't forgiven you for killing him,” Draco said, smirking at his father.  “Nor me, for defecting to the side of 'good.'“ 

Harry wasn't too surprised by that.  Lucius didn't seem to have had the most forgiving nature.  Plus...hell, probably not the cosiest place in the world—er, after world.  “Breakfast, Potter?” Draco asked, entering a room through double doors where a large table was set with just about any breakfast food Harry could imagine, and it was all enchanted to keep warm for hours.  Draco seated himself at the head of the table, tucking one leg beneath him and stretching the other across the tablecloth, snatched a flaky pastry and some grapes, and settled in, watching Harry expectantly. 

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, and sat beside Draco, grabbing a piece of toast.  A house-elf appeared out of no where with a knife and a variety of toppings, offering them up to Harry.  “Uh...just butter, please,” Harry said, and the elf efficiently buttered the toast and popped out again.  He glanced over at Draco, and was entranced by how lovely and natural he looked, delicately pulling his pastry apart and nibbling on it. 

“You’re staring, Potter.  And you’ve got crumbs on your robe,” Draco said, and wiped his own pyjamas off, as if Harry couldn’t have possibly understood, otherwise.  Harry blankly echoed the action.  “Was there a reason you came here?”

That shook Harry out of his trance.  “Yes, I said.  You weren’t in the alley.”

“Why would I be in an alley, again?” Draco asked, cocking his head to the side in an indication of mild interest.

“Well, last I heard, you were handing out fortunes next to Gringotts, and selling your body to that Hufflepuff Brooks,” Harry said, looking mildly scandalised at the last bit.

            Draco covered a grin with his hand.  “You shouldn't believe everything you hear, Potter,” He advised wisely.  “Brooks has been trying to get into my pants for at least three years.”

            Harry still wasn't _quite_ relieved.  “So you really weren't...erm...having sex with him?”

            Then, Draco actually laughed, and the sound was sweet, and caused Harry to blush.  “Are you jealous, Harry?” Draco asked, his eyes sparkling.  Harry's blush deepened and he ducked his head. 

“Don't be ridiculous.  I was worried.”

            “Worried?” Draco repeated, setting aside the remainder of his breakfast and folding his arms over his chest and levelling his full attention on Harry.  “You were worried about a Slytherin?  A Malfoy?”

            “Er...” Harry tried not to look at Draco.  “Well, you _did_ help us during the final battle, so you can be all bad.  And you weren't quite behaving like yourself, the past few days.”

            “Oh?” Draco hummed thoughtfully and looked toward the ceiling.  “Because you know who I am...?”

            That seemed to stump Harry momentarily.  “I guess I…well…er…I know you are a right git.  And that you are terribly rich and like being so, and therefore would not, in your right mind, move into an _alley_ , for whatever reason.”

            “I guess you _don’t_ know me at all, then,” Draco said harshly, his brows high and sharp over his narrowed eyes.  Harry felt an odd disappointment at the words and his shoulders slumped.  “Maybe you want to know me, though?  Is that why you are stalking me?”

“No,” Harry murmured, and took a hasty bite from his toast.  “What?  What do you mean,” He added, as the second half of what Draco had said registered.  “What do you mean, stalking you?”

“Showing up repeatedly at my place of business, never buying, merely loitering around; gathering information on me from your Huffleskank friends; coming to my house at…,” He glanced at the grandfather clock across the room and let out a heavy sigh, “ _seven-fifteen in the morning?_ ”  Draco shook his head and poured himself a mug of steaming coffee.  “Well, Harry?”

“I sometimes wonder if I’m dreaming.”

            “You dream of me, Potter?” Draco asked with a delighted grin.

            “That’s entirely beside the point,” Harry said quickly, and took a hasty sip of tea, burning himself in the process.  Draco looked highly amused.

            “Oh, on the contrary,” Draco said.  He let his leg slip from the table top and stood to loom over Harry.  “I think we may be finally getting _to_ the point.”

            Harry shifted uncomfortably, picked up his tea cup, set it down, and picked it up again, staring very fixedly at the delicate floral design on the china.  “You’re…you were…okay, _yes_.  I’ve been known to have a dream or two about you.  You know, where I beat you at Quidditch, or won against you in a duel, or laughed by ass off after turning you into a ferret.”

            Draco’s eyes narrowed, and he obviously wasn’t amused.  “I’ve had dreams about you…” He confided, leaning further over Harry and laying his hands on the table, advancing in a way that reminded Harry of a dangerous animal.

            “Oh?” Harry squeaked.  “What…” He cleared his throat.  “Er, what happened in them?” He hoped his voice hadn’t been as quavery as it seemed to his own ears.

            “Oh…” Draco hummed, his voice low and sexy and all the things Harry’s wasn’t.  “Beating you at Quidditch, winning duels against you, fucking you senseless in an alley next to Gringotts where anyone could walk by and see, and you all gasping and clinging and begging.”

            Harry whimpered, and wondered if yes, maybe this _was_ a dream.  If it was, it had been going on for a rather extraordinarily long time.  His toast dropped from numb fingers and he realised his jeans were getting very tight across his lap.  Draco’s gaze flicked down and a feral grin spread across his face as he leaned in ever closer to Harry, till his breath ghosted over Harry’s cheek, his gaze flickering down to Harry’s lips.  “Want to know me Harry?  Lesson number one: I’m weird.  Get used to it,” Draco murmured before his eyes found Harry’s once again, and seconds later, his lips were crushing Harry’s.

            Weird wasn’t so weird at all.  Weird was warm and deep and soft and a wet tongue doing amazing things to Harry’s mouth while any equally talented body moved to straddle Harry’s lap.  Weird was lithe and strong and responsive to Harry’s touch.  Weird was doing exquisite things to him.  Harry figured weird wouldn’t be too difficult to get used to at all.  In fact, Harry thought it was possible he _loved_ weird.  And maybe that wasn’t so normal, but then, when had _Harry_ ever been normal.  He rather liked being weird, himself…

Fini.

**Author's Note:**

> OMG, you probably read this, and are now wondering what’s wrong with my head. I have no good answer. However, several things happened before this fic could. One, my brother in law started having sex with Draco in the trash alley next to our apartment (hint: don’t ask). Two, I watched Scream 3 (hint: the party at Roman’s scene). Three, I was walking home rather late from Barnes and Noble, and there was a woman in Union Square digging through the trash. She had long blonde hair, was wearing some amazing hot pants, and looked startlingly like Draco...(hint: again, don’t ask).


End file.
